The Treacherous Blade
by KDTemperedSteel
Summary: This story takes place six years after the end of Soul Calibur II. Unfortunately I'm not going to have time to finish it, but it's still a good short story involving Ivy and Siegfried.
1. Prelude: The Grey Witch

Prelude: The Grey Witch  
  
The children of Brecon called her the Grey Witch. It was said that she could kill with a thought, and that anyone venturing near her lonely abode in the hills would be cast down into the fiery pits of hell itself. Visitors to the town were warned by men and children alike to stay out of the vicinity of her cottage. Stories were told in smoke-filled taverns about how the hag could make herself appear to be a beautiful young maiden with silver hair, and that any hapless onlooker witnessing this illusion would be enthralled instantly, and forced to do the witch's bidding. Other stories were exchanged by the women of the town. In hushed voices they would chatter over their sewing about the witch's ability to lure husbands from their wives and children from their beds, all to their doom in her large, cast-iron pot. Cloudy days were known amongst the townsfolk as 'Witching Days', because it was then that her power was strongest.  
  
~~~  
  
On one such cloudy day, the Grey Witch was kneeling in her garden, pruning back a particularly aggressive rose bush with her favorite ivory-handled clippers. She enjoyed the cloudy days because the sun did not beat down so strong, and she could work for long hours without breaking a sweat. Clouds also meant that rain was on the way, and her roses needed plenty of rain to grow. Even this late in the season, after the flowers have long since dropped, they would still be thirsty. She cooed to the plant in front of her, assuring it that it would not go long without nourishment. Aside from a large black cat that had taken up residence under her porch, the plants were her only companions, and she conversed with them regularly.  
  
Rising to her feet, she gathered up the clippings and turned to walk them to the back of the house, where she kept her compost. As she turned, the path leading up to her home caught her eye. The clouds had parted enough to let a single ray of sunlight dance across the valley below, and it had reflected off of polished metal. There, on the path to her house, to the most feared place in Brecon, stood a horse and rider. The person was most certainly not from town, nobody there would be foolhardy enough to come to her home. The bright gleam of metal only served to reinforce her assumption; the townsfolk were not the type to keep their tools in that sort of pristine condition. Her expression darkened as she tightened her grip on her clippers. The person, whoever he was, had better have a good reason to disturb her solitude, or he would pay dearly; he would pay with blood. As the clouds closed again, the rider continued his long trek along the path. It would still be some time before he reached his destination.  
  
The grey witch forced herself to calm her anger. She hadn't expected to react that violently to a visitor, but then, it had been some time since she had seen anyone even this close to her home. She absently pulled her long, silver hair back as she walked to the compost heap. Her baggy work clothes were a mess, and she had the notion to change into something more presentable, but she couldn't really remember if she had clothes that were presentable. Of course there probably wasn't enough time anyway, and why should she change? She was the Grey Witch, the Hag of Brecon. If she looked homely in these clothes, then she was only playing the part well. She opened the door to her cottage and was greeted with a loud, angry hiss. How could she have let herself be caught off guard? Tensing, she brandished her clippers to defend herself. The black cat darted quickly past her legs, it's cackles raised in alarm. She sighed and shook her head, she must be getting old, she couldn't remember having let the cat in the house. She couldn't quite understand why it had reacted that way though. She looked at her reflection in the murky washbasin. Her hair could use a trim, but she didn't think she looked that terrifying. As she washed her hands in the basin, she watched through a window as the rider approached, but he was still too far away to make out clearly.  
  
The water in the basin had turned an interesting shade of red by the time she realized she was in pain. She yanked her hands out of the water and examined them closely. There was a long gash across the back of her left hand, which she quickly bandaged with a spare cloth. Reaching into the basin again with her right hand, she carefully felt around until she could grasp the hilt of the tool that had caused the wound and pull it from the water. She stared at it for a while before realizing what it was. It was her old adventuring dagger, still sharp because she had not used it for quite some time. She had stored it in a box along with...  
  
She slowly backed away from the basin. How could the dagger have gotten here? That box was locked away. It couldn't have gotten out. She turned and ran for her bedroom, for the bed under which she had hidden all of her memories. The door to her room slammed against the wall as she burst in, but before she could make it to the bed her foot collided with something solid and she fell to the floor. Sitting up, her back to the door, she slowly reached behind her to touch the oblong box that had tripped her; that she knew was there, lying in the middle of the floor where it shouldn't be. As her fingers felt the wood, the box began to vibrate. It was impossible, she knew that it was over, it had to be over. Her life was so peaceful now, so quiet, but that tranquility was rapidly slipping through her fingers. She didn't want to look at what was lurking in that box, but a force of will that was not her own compelled her to. As she turned her head to look at it, the box lid sprang open with unholy force. She covered her face as she cried out in anguish. There, strapped into the box that had contained it for six long years, was her sword, Valentine.  
  
Memories that had been carefully locked away rushed back into her mind unabated as Isabella Valentine sat weeping on the floor of her cottage. Her tears fell freely on the sword, and it writhed within it's leather containing straps, reacting to its creator's presence. The links of it's multi-segmented blade ground together in a vain effort to free itself. She didn't move for some time until the wind bore the soft sound of a horse's whinny to her ears. Drying tears of regret for the past and of fear for the future, she grasped the hilt of her sword and pulled it free from its restraints. It burst into a whirling vortex of metal and lightning and twirled around her as she rose, exulting in its newfound freedom. She closed her eyes. The raging torrents of emotion that had been flooding through her mind calmed, and she became one with her sword once more. When she willed it, the errant segments of the blade returned to the hilt and latched together with a soft click. Her eyes opened.  
  
Perhaps she would change into something more presentable after all.  
  
~~~  
  
Disclaimer: Apparently I do not own SCII or any of its characters. 


	2. Chapter 1: The Visitor

Author's notes: Thanks to everyone that posted reviews of my story! I should be getting around to everyone's stories and returning the favor soon.  
  
The Treacherous Blade  
  
Chapter 1:The Visitor  
  
The lone rider came to a stop outside of Isabella's cottage. He neither moved nor spoke, but waited patiently for the sole resident to show herself, his face hidden in the shadows of a monk's plain and voluminous robes. As Ivy stepped through the open doorway, the rider straightened and cleared his throat. She had changed from her work clothes into a slinky, black satin dress. It was perhaps a bit too provocative for the occasion, but it had been the only decent article of clothing she could find and quickly change into. Even at thirty eight years of age, and having spent the last six years away from the rigors of martial training, she still struck a ravishing figure in the dress. In her rush however, she could not find a pair of matching shoes, and her bare feet combined with her long, unkempt hair, bandaged hand, and defiant stance gave her an altogether wild look.  
  
"Isabella Valentine," the rider exhaled the name, as if in awe, or perhaps recognition. Although it was not a question, Ivy inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement. She was still too shaken by the events that had occurred in her home to test her voice, and so instead simply fixed a glare on the rider, making a quick appraisal of the man while he apparently collected his thoughts to speak.  
  
He was a young man, perhaps in his late twenties and, from what she could see beneath his cowl, had handsome features. His simple brown robes did not fool her for a second; she could tell from the way he sat languidly atop the large black charger that he was an experienced rider and, from the looks of the polished bridle and war-saddle he was using, at least knowledgeable, maybe even experienced in the art of mounted combat. He gripped the reins of his horse with his left hand, and it was the grip of someone used to wielding a sword. Ivy continued to glare at her visitor in awkward silence, eventually realizing that he had expected a response, and was unsure of how to continue.  
  
"I have not been called by that name for quite some time, boy." She spoke the last word as a mild insult, but from where she stood it may not have been far from the truth. "Perhaps you would care to enlighten me as to your name, and then we can discuss why you've come to seek me out over some tea and scones." Ivy injected as much sarcasm into her speech as she could muster, it was clear she had no intention of sitting down peacefully and 'discussing' anything. Valentine was sitting just inside the door, and though it was painful to be even that far away from her trusted sword so shortly after reacquainting herself with it, she wanted to appear unarmed. She would need the element of surprise on her side if she were to win a fight after such a long time without training.  
  
The rider paused, then tilted his head back and let loose a loud, raucous laugh. The hood that had concealed his features fell away, revealing long blonde hair pulled back into a pony-tail. The sun shone in his light grey eyes as he returned his gaze to Ivy. Finally able to see his face in full, she suddenly became unsure that her previous assessment of his age had been accurate. True, he did have the face of a handsome man of twenty, but his golden hair contained a few streaks of grey running through it, and his eyes contained the kind of sorrow of one who has seen many hardships. The long scar marring the right side of his face attested to his battle experience, so she had at least been right about that. Leaning over the pommel of his saddle, he spoke to her as if they were old friends, but she could not recall ever having met him before.  
  
"Still as indignant as ever, and as beautiful. You've certainly been quite a challenge to track down, milady. I'm surprised that the myth of the Grey Witch hasn't spread past Brecon," his voice took on a sadder tone, "if it had, I may have found you sooner." He shook his head, then spoke again, more cheerily, "I assume that the story is your own creation? I hadn't thought of you as much of the recluse, but you've certainly done a good job of it. Everyone I asked told me to stay away from here, and only a scant few were willing to give me directions. They seemed to think they were sentencing me to death by pointing me to your humble abode."   
  
At this Ivy only raised her eyebrow, as if to say that they may have been correct, but decided not to voice her opinion just yet. "It appears you have me at a disadvantage. I don't recall ever meeting you before, boy, but you seem to know me quite well. If you told me your name it might rekindle an old memory, or perhaps an old flame?" She crossed her arms and looked up at the 'monk' expectantly. It was painfully clear that she didn't intend to continue the conversation until she knew who she was speaking to.  
  
The rider's face grew stern, and he leaned further over his saddle, fixing Ivy with a cold stare. When he finally spoke, his voice had changed, it was now lower, more sinister. "Look into my eyes, Isabella, and tell me that you've really forgotten your past. Tell me you've forgotten the things you've done in your selfish quest to rid yourself of the curse in your bloodline. Tell me you've forgotten the blood you've spilt in the name of vengeance!" His voice grew louder, deeper, and more wicked with every word, until it was a wholly different person speaking.   
  
Ivy's arms dropped to her sides, her mouth agape, as she stood transfixed by his stare. His eyes began to glow with a pale, malevolent, red light. It was barely visible, but it was enough to light a spark of recognition in Ivy. As quickly as it appeared however, it was gone, and only the pale grey eyes of the rider stared back. Before she could regain her senses and reach for her sword, the rider's eyes slid shut and his shoulders slumped forward. He took in a deep breath and let it out in a shuddering sigh.  
  
"I'm sorry, milady. It... it is getting harder to control..." He couldn't find words to describe what he had experienced, but he didn't have to. Ivy was quickly putting the pieces together in her mind, and although she did not completely understand the puzzle, she at least had a place to start, and that gave her confidence. She regained her composure and waited quietly as the rider slowly brought himself back from the brink of unconsciousness.  
  
When his eyes fluttered open at last, she spoke. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Herr Schtauffen, or shall I call you Nightmare?"   
  
At the mention of his infamous monicker, Siegfried Schtauffen lowered his head in shame. "I have not been called by that name for quite some time, milady. You are not the only one to have chosen hermitage as an escape from your memories." His eyes rose to meet hers, but now his expression was that of grim determination, "But now that time has ended. We must leave immediately, for I have failed in my duties, and now the evil that you once sought to destroy, and that I vowed to protect, has again been loosed upon this world."  
  
~~~  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own SCII or its characters.  
  
Author's notes (cont.): Phew, finally the two main characters have been introduced. I was debating actually making this part of the prelude, as it parallels the current prelude in function and somewhat in form, but I suppose I'll leave it as is for now.  
  
Now, for those of you with torches and pitchforks yelling "where's my action!?", it's coming up. Chapter 2 will have a decent-sized battle in it, and that's a promise. Oh, I cleaned up the prelude a tiny bit, changed one or two words here and there, indented it, and added a disclaimer, but that's about it, not really anything new, so no need to read through it again. 


	3. Chapter 2: The Village

Author's Notes: Sadly, this may be the last chapter of my fanfic. I'm finding myself ever more busy with other aspects of my life and am having trouble finding the time to write. If it hadn't been for some rather harsh winter weather, this chapter may very well never have been written either. Well, more notes at the end.  
  
The Treacherous Blade  
  
Chapter 2: The Village  
  
It did not take long for Ivy to pack her belongings. Most of her travelling gear was still stored in much the same condition and arrangement that it had been when she arrived at the cottage. She did not ask any more questions of Siegfried as she packed either; there was no reason to. She understood the gravity of the situation perfectly well, and in her mind there was only one course of action to be taken. She must destroy Soul Edge.  
  
She looked into the mirror in her room one last time as she hefted her pack onto her shoulder. Her seductive black dress had been replaced with a loose fitting white shirt and sturdy brown pants under a flowing, brown wool cape. She vaguely remembered a time when she wouldn't have worn anything so plain, but now was not the time to be calling attention to herself. Her hair was humbly pulled back into a loose braid, and her black travelling boots were unflatteringly flat-heeled. She wore her dagger at her side, but Valentine was stored in her pack. She hoped the disguise would be enough to get them out of Brecon without too much of a stir.   
  
At the door to the cottage, the black cat sat patiently watching Ivy collect her last few belongings, almost as if he knew she was leaving. Ivy bent down and rubbed his head as she walked by, and he gave a soft purr of pleasure.  
  
"You'll keep my home safe while I'm gone, won't you? There will be plenty of mice raiding my cupboards to keep you happily hunting for a long while." The cat purred and squinted his eyes in mock understanding. Ivy rose and wiped away the tear that had appeared at the corner of her eye against her consent. It was time to confront her future, there was no time to lament the past. She stepped across the threshold of her home, squinting in the light of the evening sun. Siegfried stood next to his charger with a stern face, watching her.  
  
"Milady," he said, gesturing to the saddle, "You may ride to the town, we can purchase another horse there." Ivy accepted his hand and boosted herself into the saddle.  
  
"You know, Siegfried, we're not strangers. You may call me Isabella if you wish." Ivy smirked at him, hoping to lighten the mood a little. Siegfried pulled his hood up, concealing his face, and grabbed the reins of the charger.  
  
"Of course, milady."  
  
~~~  
  
As the the two warriors trekked down the path to Brecon, Ivy sat silently. The thought never crossed her mind to ask about their final destination, or about the specifics of their mission. She wasn't interested in the details, it only mattered that she was going to get another chance to destroy Soul Edge. Instead, she studied her comrade, who was at the same time familiar and strange.   
  
Her thoughts drifted back to the days of her old quest, to the time she had first met the monster known as Nightmare. There was no doubt that this man was in part the same entity that had helped her create her beloved Valentine, she needed only to look into his eyes and recall that hate-filled red glow to know that. How much of that being still remained though, was a mystery, and until she knew for certain she decided it would be best not to attempt to be too familiar. There was also another part to the man that walked ahead of her now, a part that was not new, but had been hidden during his possession of Soul Edge.   
  
After she had finally put her accursed father to rest and destroyed the part of Soul Edge that he wielded, she had been certain that the sword was finally wiped out. She had thought that the shards her father had collected were the last remaining ones, and that the other half of the sword had been completely destroyed along with Nightmare when he had been defeated by that chinaman. Obviously, she had been wrong.  
  
"Forgive me for bringing up bad memories, but I thought you were dead. May I ask what happened after I left your company so long ago?" Her voice was harsh compared to the stifling silence of the rolling hills around them, but she could not help her natural curiosity. Siegfried did not look back as he spoke; his voice carried no emotion.  
  
"I'm afraid that my memory has many gaps in it, due to periods in which my entire being was possessed by the demon sword, but I will try to tell you what I know. After you left to confront your father for the first time, I, or rather my possessed form, Nightmare, continued it's rampage of collecting souls. I was helpless to stop the horrors that were unleashed by my hand, but evil cannot go forever unchallenged. I believe you are familiar with my defeat at the hands of Kilik and Xianghua? It happened at very nearly the same time that you thought you had defeated Cervantes, your father.   
  
Yes, I know about your battle with him. We both wielded a part of Soul Edge, so our minds were linked to an extent. Although we could not directly communicate, we were each aware of the others' actions and thoughts. Unfortunately, you made the same misjudgment that the two eastern warriors had made, thinking that shattering the blade of Soul Edge would completely destroy it. Both your father and I were spared from death via the unholy powers of Soul Edge. From what I can gather, your father almost immediately began to collect shards of Soul Edge in an attempt to recreate his former sword. I still retained some of my humanity, so I attempted to fight off the sword's evil, but I was destined to fail, and Nightmare was born yet again.  
  
I am also aware of your second confrontation with Cervantes, and his final defeat. I am uncertain of how you did it, but you completely obliterated his half of Soul Edge from existence. At the time I was locked in combat with Kilik and Xianghua yet again. I felt the destruction of Cervantes and his sword like a bolt of lightning slamming through the link, and it weakened the sword's grip on my mind enough for me to take control and flee. I traveled for many months until I discovered a place to hide from my pursuers, and there I spent these past six years wrestling with the evil will of the sword. Without the other half still in existence, the task of containing Soul Edge was still formidable, but not impossible.  
  
It is there that I would still be, guarding that evil well away from the weak souls of man, but for a greedy thief who has stolen my blade..." Siegfried's voice trailed off. It was the first time he had referred to the sword as 'his' sword, and apparently the remnants of the evil within his soul were stirring at the thought. Ivy had sat in rapt attention the entire time, not uttering a word, and she didn't intend to break her silence now. She had let him tell her everything he wanted to tell, and it was apparent that to ask anything more would be probing into areas that were best left alone.  
  
The air grew colder as they descended into the shadow of the valley and the sun became concealed behind the hills. The village was only a short way off now. Ivy's attention was drawn to the square in the center of the village, where the people seemed to be in the middle of festivities.  
  
~~~  
  
Smoke rose from dozens of torches as the townspeople formed a human wave surging towards Siegfried and Ivy. What had appeared to be festivities had in fact been a mob. Now they were trapped between a row of upturned carts and half of the towns population armed with pitchforks, scythes, and hammers. Ivy's hand began to slowly snake towards her pack hanging by her thigh, where Valentine was calling to her, urging to be let out.  
  
"Witch!" A man's voice rose above the general clamor of the mob, silencing them. Ivy straightened when she realized the mob was not going to attack until this man had his say. "What business do you have in our town?" The man made his way forward. He looked like the typical Brecon farmer, not exceedingly tall, but stocky, built like a bull. His dress pegged him as a town leader of some sort, either the mayor or a master of the guard. Ivy opened her mouth to speak, but Siegfried stepped forward first, and gave a short bow.  
  
"Good evening, milord. I'm afraid that the lady is under my custody, she's being taken to the provincial court to be tried under suspicion of murder. I'm sure you're also aware of the laws against lynching. I can, however, assure you that we have enough evidence against this woman to convict and hang her." Siegfried bowed again. Ivy sat mute, although she would not hesitate to spill blood, she had no quarrel with the townspeople, in fact she was thankful that their superstitions had worked so well at preserving her privacy. Hopefully the ruse would work.  
  
"The provincial court, you say? I'm sure you have some papers proving your claim to this witch. Or some sort of identification showing that you're a bounty hunter for the court. No? Then perhaps you've been taken under this witches' spell! Step aside, familiar, and let me speak to the witch!" Siegfried looked up at Ivy and stepped to the side, giving a shrug. He handed her the reins in acquiescence. If they thought her a witch, perhaps they wouldn't attack for fear of magic. The mayor took another step towards them. "Witch, we've got enough evidence to hang you right here and now. Evidence in the tears of infants' mothers who will never see their babies again, evidence in the plaintive cries of children who cannot sleep for fear of your evil familiars, and evidence in the sweat and blood of good men whom you've taken for your dark rituals!" The crowd let out an angry roar and surged ahead once more. It was apparent that bluffing was not going to work, but the mob was moving cautiously, which meant they were still unsure whether they should be afraid of the Grey Witch's magic or not.  
  
Ivy leaned down and spoke in Siegfried's ear. "Can you fight?"  
  
Siegfried nodded. "But if we can spare their lives, I would prefer that to bloodshed."  
  
"As would I. Very well, I have a plan. Hold them off as long as you can. I need to break through the first wave and get to the young men in the back." Siegfried nodded again and moved to stand in front of the charger. He knew that the horse would have no trouble trampling through the farmers, but that it would mean a few crushed heads if they didn't get out of the way.  
  
"Chant on me," he glanced back over his shoulder to see if Ivy had heard. She looked confused. "Chant on me, they think you're a witch, make them think you're casting a spell." Ivy didn't think it would work, but she went along with the plan anyway. She reached her fingers out and began to slowly chant what she hoped sounded like spell words. Siegfried began to twitch and jerk as if he were possessed. The crowd came to a stumbling halt as he began to cry out in pain and grab his stomach. With another tortured howl, he ripped his robes off, revealing a full set of deep blue plate-mail. Ivy gasped in a very un-witch like manner, but the mob's attention was riveted on Siegfried. They had undoubtedly heard the stories of the azure Nightmare, who rampaged throughout Europe killing hundreds. Murmurs of apprehension began to travel through the mob as they tried to discern if this was really the legendary monster.  
  
Siegfried did not give them an opportunity to collect themselves, he charged straight into the center of the mob. Tackling a man too astonished to use his pitchfork, Siegfried launched him towards the back of the mob. The man collided with two others, and they quickly scurried out of the way of the blue terror. Ivy suddenly realized that he had just created a path straight to the rear of the mob, and that if she didn't take this opportunity, the mob would soon collect itself and attack in earnest. She kicked the charger into a full gallop and pushed straight towards Siegfried. When she was almost on top of him, he ducked into a full crouch and gave a sharp whistle to his horse. Ivy held on for dear life as the horse jumped well over his master. She was nearly to the town square when she regained control of the horse and turned it around. Siegfried was already busy fighting the mob. His armor protected him from nearly every attack, and he deftly disabled the farmers as they advanced on him. A quick punch to the gut or a crack to the side of the head was all the attention he gave each of his opponents. Ivy could tell that the fight was not in his favor though, and once the mob realized that he was simply human, there would be little hope for him.  
  
Ivy glanced about for what she had been looking for and quickly located it. She had seen enough mobs in her day to know what to expect. At the rear of the mob was a young boy wielding a wooden sword, he was far too young to be there, but the mob was too concerned with the object of their hate to send him home. He was milling about, too far away from the fight to see anything and just far enough away for Ivy to reach without getting into the thick of things. As she trotted her horse over to the young boy, he looked up with a wide-eyed stare. He knew he should be afraid of the witch, but he didn't see a witch, he simply saw a pretty lady on a horse.  
  
"Come with me, dear, it's too dangerous for you here," She said as she reached a hand down to him. He obligingly grabbed her hand, and she pulled him onto the horse in front of her. "Now, I want to show you something pretty, but you have to promise me you won't make a sound and you won't try to move. Do you understand, little one?" The boy looked up at her with an innocent smile and nodded. "Good. Now don't be afraid this won't hurt you..." She reached down to her pack and grabbed the hilt of Valentine, pulling it free from its restraints and willing it to adopt its whip form. The boy's breath caught and his eyes grew even wider as the sword began to move on its own. Ivy pulled the boy close to her and the sword swiftly snaked around them, the multiple blades resting close enough to the boy's skin that he could not move for fear of being cut.  
  
Meanwhile, Siegfried was beginning to tire. The effort of disabling the mob without killing them was taking its toll, and he didn't know how much strength he had left. As he kicked a man with a torch in the stomach, another with a sledgehammer got behind him and took a mighty swing at Siegfried's exposed back. The blow from the hammer knocked him into a stone wall, and the air left his lungs.   
  
"Stop!" Ivy's voice commanded the attention of both Siegfried and the mob. "This boy's life is forfeit if you do not let us pass." Siegfried regained his breath and turned to Ivy. The mob had completely stopped and was simply staring at the boy ensnared by Ivy's sword. The man who had initially spoken stepped forward.  
  
"If you harm a hair on his-"  
  
"That's completely up to you now, isn't it?" Ivy interjected, "This blade will slice him to ribbons if I so much as think it, so I suggest you let my companion through." The crowd moved aside for Siegfried. They knew she wasn't lying about this; everyone knew the Grey Witch could kill with a thought. "Very good. Now, my companion also needs a horse, and when one has been provided to him, we will be on our way." The leader shouted for a horse to be brought, and in a few minutes Siegfried was mounted on a pale grey mare.  
  
"Now will you release my son?" The leader was attempting to be stoic, but he was visibly shaking, and every time Ivy shifted her weight and the blades of her sword moved, his breath caught in his throat.  
  
"No, I'm afraid that if I release the boy, you'll simply attack us when we stop to rest for the night, won't you?"  
  
"I swear on my life that if you release my son, you will have safe passage out of Brecon. Please, I'm begging you!" The man was now in tears, and the rest of the townspeople stood in shameful silence.  
  
Ivy paused to consider his plea. She nodded her head and willed the sword to release the boy. Valentine whirled outward, twirling around Ivy until it snapped back into a sword in her hand. A collective sigh of relief arose from the crowd, but as the man strode forward to receive his son, Ivy grabbed hold of the boy's hair, yanking his head back to expose his neck. Her sword hovered an inch away from his jugular for a few moments, just long enough to halt the man in his tracks, before she used it to slice off a small lock of the boy's hair. "Know this, so long as I have this lock of hair in my possession, the boy's life is mine. I have but to think it, and he will die. Do not follow us out of the town, or he will die. Do not enter or come near my home, or he will die. Do you understand?" The man nodded. "Very well." She let the boy down off of her horse and turned it around. Without saying a word, she urged the horse into a trot towards the town limits. Siegfried gave one last glare at the townspeople and then followed Ivy's lead. No one else dared to follow.  
  
~~~  
  
Once they were a few miles away from town, Ivy raised her hand to her lips and blew the boy's hair into the wind. As it drifted away in the moonlit night she gave a small laugh. "I'm surprised they believed that act. I suppose I make a more convincing witch than I thought."  
  
Siegfried looked over to her. Her braided hair was shining spectacularly in the moonlight, and her pale skin seemed to glow beneath the stars. He opened his mouth to speak, but then decided against the comment he was going to make. He looked back towards the road ahead of them. "We have a long journey ahead of us, milady, and I'm afraid we're not going to be able to bluff all of our enemies into doing what we want."  
  
"Well, you certainly know how to spoil a beautiful night with somber talk," Ivy huffed as she stroked her braid, "I suppose I should ask where we're going, although I don't suppose it matters much. Where ARE we going, anyway?" After a few moments of silence, she looked over at Siegfried, beginning to worry. "Siegfried, where are we going?"  
  
Siegfried looked back at her, frowning, "I was hoping you could tell me."  
  
~~~  
  
Author's Notes: Yeah, I know, it's a cliffhanger, sorry bout that, but if I had tried to finish the story in this chapter it would've been incredibly stupid. Anyway, at least now you know that Ivy and Sieg get out of Brecon, and are now on their adventure to destroy Soul Edge once and for all, wherever Soul Edge might be. What happens next? Hmm, well, I don't want to give anything away in case I do eventually decide/find time to write the rest, so I'll say use your imagination! 


End file.
